Tale of Three Parts
The following takes place between 6:00p.m. and 11:00p.m.
April 16th
Does my mind dwell on random things? Absolutely not. Easily distracted though I am, never wanders my mind to subjects of no pertinence. The "random" pieces indicated on this site are not figments of a creative mind but regurgitations of a limited one. I submit to the old mantra, "Write what you know." The fact is that this qualification sets very imposing limits, which is why during the last two weeks, no words have adorned this site.
At 6:00p.m. Saturday, I told my mom that I was going out after dinner. Where? Danny's Place. With whom? Friends. Who? Oh, I don't know. I ate at 7:30 and was detained from departure by my sister's insistence that I play DDR with her. Thanks to the defects and inconsistency of the game, I didn't actually manage to play, though I did waste time. I arrived at school at 7:45 or so, which was apparently late. To my defense, I'd said "7:30 to 8:00", so I'd imagined my time ideal. I hate being late.
April 17th
A vague purpose guided my step. I advanced upon the destination with apprehension. The reason for this nervousness dawned upon me quite literally: an ominous car rose over the top of the hill and bore down on me like Lyndon Baines Johnson. My fleet foot trod not upon sidewalk, but upon the side of the road. Whoops, damn.
Like a stolid serpent, I observed the motions of unsuspecting civilians into the target area. Either they bore sufficient clearance, or security was lax, because they gained access. In any case, I detected beside me an indistinct but definitely present aversion toward the target. Regardless, I infiltrated the parameters easily, discovering a vicious outpouring of musical noise inside. I escaped quickly from the badn's open audio fire, preserving at least 70% of my hearing capacity.
My flight was immediate and definite. I turned my back to the voices of Andrew and his friends as they traced my previous route into the arena. "Grass" was my only mandate, and naturally, I spent none of the rest of the evening on grass. There was no visual on the site of a late playground, but one allots not time to bemoan such losses. Instead, I sought high ground, finding shelter on a grassless plain inside what were formerly vessels of sweage. There did I reside some time, before my pioneer spirit - the same one that drove my ancestor, Francesco Pizarro, to massacre the Inca - drove me from the pipes. Northwestern winds increased in magnitude, and again I fled.
The hunger I sensed but did not feel guided me to a fastfood restaurant, where I commanded of the waitress a Happy Meal. I dedicate myself as a rule to eating with conviction, and down the esophagus, peristalsis forced a cheeseburger, Coke, and a fair share of fries dipped in barbecue sauce. I ate them in noble masculine style: Federal agents don't wipe grease off America's favorite fries.
I do not condone toying during eating, be it food or other frivolities. However, as the poster-boy of hypocrisy, I do often that which I condemn. And with this in mind, I indulged in a juvenile experimentation with the presents associated with my meal.
April 18th
Damn, midnight already.
I left McDonald's at 9:00 with, as is so often the case, nothing in mind and uncomfortable items in all of my pants pockets. As co-ordinates shifted to the junior high track field, I resigned myself to the blasted "awkward moments when I am forced to think."
The turf was surprising. Luck is a lady, but even such bitches can smile upon me at times. No rain fell on Saturday evening, and the eastern winds relented. It was one of those rare evenings when it's legit to lie down on the turf, looking up at the skies, searching out stars and distinguishing them from airplanes. I could find no moon. No amount of stupid white people babbling incomprehensibly like anime characters could destroy the potency of the moment. I personally managed to destroy it by telling a tale of peace, love, and war - a battle of ideals, battle of reptiles, until I violated a tolerance level. We all have our limits.
In the final minutes, I engaged in that damn fidgeting. I can't help myself. The plastic of the McDonald's toy dug into my skin, and the clicking was an absolutely infernal sound, but I could not resist touching the toy. Fortunately, confiscation of the toy stopped this urge.
It was considerably less cold - so it seemed - when I came home at 10:30. I stayed up until 4:45a.m. Sunday. I could see the moon.
SD
Home.